


Eleven Erogenous Zones of a Fallen Angel

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bath Sex, Bathing/Washing, Body Worship, Bottom Castiel, Canon Universe, Caring Dean, Dust Baths, Fallen Angel Castiel, Fluff, Grumpy Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Illustrated, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Moaning, Motel Rooms, Non-Penetrative Sex, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Smut, Wing Grooming, Wing Kink, Wingfic, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-30 23:16:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19413478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: Castiel used the last of his angel mojo to make his wings corporeal. But even once he became human, the wings remained. Now clumsy, deeply inconvenienced, and constantly itchy, Castiel is decidedly not a fan. He's almost ashamed of the things. Dean, however, sees the wings differently. Armed with Sam's hairbrush, some pet shampoo, and a desire to change Castiel's mind, Dean gives his buddy a bath and helps him make peace with his body. But if Cas happens to find Dean's touches pleasurable, well...





	Eleven Erogenous Zones of a Fallen Angel

**Author's Note:**

> About 40 people requested some combination of wing kink, wing grooming, or similar in my reader survey one year ago. Given I had over 400 responses total, that means about 10% of you REALLY want this. To find inspiration I went through 7 years' worth of my [#wings](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/tagged/wings/) tag on tumblr. This fic was inspired by [this](https://www.google.com/url?q=https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/44700486183/lousysharkbutt-dust-baths-are-super-cute-if-you&sa=D&ust=1561808358150000&usg=AFQjCNGjhbJLdc77LgNOJiXRekRtPzBQhA), [this](https://www.google.com/url?q=https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/85585351765/consulting-cannibal-you-guys-remember-the&sa=D&ust=1561808358149000&usg=AFQjCNFQKHaTLuN4yKoNN8q3Wq1wGlyDFg), [this](https://www.google.com/url?q=https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/42536955115/alicexz-wing-study-friggin-angels&sa=D&ust=1561808358150000&usg=AFQjCNHPHFQbxsIT3nVRDHkhXeN-0tKGrg), [this](https://www.google.com/url?q=https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/21711838351/nocek-23-are-done-or-maybe-less-yay&sa=D&ust=1561808358150000&usg=AFQjCNHUJyiaBH3SHadYZb9td4lPWs5rYg), [this](https://www.google.com/url?q=https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/22685032249/eastcollins-jennycockles-edlund-is-that&sa=D&ust=1561808358150000&usg=AFQjCNHn_t7z6HX8xuq01m_-EjM9tq_1Sw) (warning: flashing gif), [this](), [this](https://www.google.com/url?q=https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/41413160723/rhymewithrachel-if-supernatural-doesnt-have&sa=D&ust=1561808358150000&usg=AFQjCNFhXqI7-PIM5huZJf5zzee6nuT12A), and [this](https://www.google.com/url?q=https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/32430859577/gingerhaole-reading-the-marvelous&sa=D&ust=1561808358150000&usg=AFQjCNHKU2AisljPrDeRREkrx0ZkQ0y9nQ).
> 
> Thank you to the people who [voted on my poll](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/184668905685/wing-kink) to help me decide whether to make this smutty or not. Smut won by about 78%, but many folks seemed not to mind either way. Therefore this fic is completely non-sexual... up until the point where oops it isn't.
> 
> Beta'd by [Katie](http://crab-full-of-rocks.tumblr.com/). Pre-approved by my lovely Patrons, too~!
> 
> **[Click here for a wing diagram in case you need a visual reference!!](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/8297355391/wingparts)**
> 
> Art by me. Reblog links are down the bottom of the fic c:

  
  
Dean stared at the side of the road in horror, gripping Sam’s arm to keep himself upright. “He better not try and get back in the car,” Dean said dangerously.

Sam chuckled. “I don’t know. It’s cute.”

“Cute? _Cute_?!” Dean flared his hands towards the cartoon squabble of brown dust that rose from the road’s shoulder, flaps of wings and random feathers puffing out every time Castiel violently changed position. “The guy’s taking a freaking dust bath, Sammy. Like a _bird_.”

“I mean,” Sam said, “he does have wings. He’s about as close to being a bird as a human’s ever been.”

Dean was beside himself with agitation. “There’s gonna be dirt all over the seats. _Crunchy_ things in the tape deck. Oh my God.” He turned away, too afraid to look now Castiel was getting to his feet.

He couldn’t help but peek, though; Castiel strode towards the parked Impala with great energy and purpose, trenchcoat billowing behind him, newly-dusted wings stretching out six feet either side of him. He flapped them a few times once clear of the dirt patch, and Dean hissed in distaste as a sparkling haze exploded from his friend, glimmering in the morning light as the breeze carried it all away. It would be kind of epic, if it didn’t send chills of discomfort up Dean’s spine.

“Nuh-uh,” Dean said, one hand around the hilt of the sword in his belt, hurrying to stop Castiel before he approached the car. “You get me to stop the car in the middle of the highway, fine. You get out to enjoy the scenery, whatever. You roll in dirt like a sparrow? Okay, I’ll accept it; you do you!” Dean pointed at the car. “But you get in my baby? Covered in dust?” He grinned murderously. “You’re walking home, buddy. You. Are. Walking. Home.”

“Dean,” Sam said placatingly. “The motel’s at least ten miles from here.”

“So we tie him to the roof like a freakin’ angelic couch.”

Sam clasped a hand over his eyes and sighed.

Castiel, however, had breezed past the puppy-eyes and had slipped into a gritted-jaw, fire-eyed, firm-shouldered death glare. “You did this to me, Dean,” he growled. “You claimed you were so willing to accept that I would end up powerless, and yet you can’t bear the consequences. _You_ try having wings you can’t hide, or even reach the back of.”

Dean poked a finger at Castiel’s chest. “We wondered if it was possible, Cas. We didn’t demand anything. You used up the last of your power _willingly_. _You_ made your wings corporeal.”

“But I didn’t know I’d be _stuck_ with them afterwards!”

“Neither did we!”

“Okayokayokay,” Sam uttered, placing himself between Dean and Castiel, turning Dean around. “Everyone take a deep breath. Cas—” He looked at the forlorn ex-angel, who had dust everywhere, so his almost-black hair and blue-toned wings were all the same shade of brown. “Cas, I’m sorry. _We’re_ sorry. We’re sorry you’re suffering right now. Aren’t we, Dean.”

Dean scoffed. But then he looked over at Cas, and his gaze softened. “Yeah,” he said, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Guilt seized his stomach, and he sighed. “Didn’t mean to yell n’ stuff.”

Castiel glared, but said, calmly, “Apology accepted.”

“Dean just cares a lot about his car,” Sam said with a smile. “And Cas is very, very itchy.”

Castiel sighed. “It won’t stop. Nothing I do makes any difference.”

Dean hung his head, fiddling with the sword at his side. He gulped, then said, with hesitation tugging on his tongue, “Mmmaybe you can ride in the back. Just this once. I can vacuum once we get back to the bunker. But don’t _touch_ anything.”

Castiel managed a small smile of relief. But it was immediately whisked away by discomfort, and he reached behind himself to dig his fingers between feathers, scratching.

A car slowed down on the highway, the driver visibly awed by the sight of real wings. Dean leapt into action, casually showing off his Moondoor knight-slash-handmaiden’s outfit, complete with leather breastplate and sword. He raised his wrist, waggling the neon paper bracelet around it. “Comic-Con!” he called.

Whether or not the driver understood was uncertain, but they drove on, apparently satisfied by what they’d seen. Dean relaxed, chuckling. “This was my best idea ever. Cosplayers make the coolest wings these days.”

Castiel sighed, and started towards the car, irritated. “I hope all this was worth it,” he muttered. “Just to have a jar of angel feathers.”

“You know we need them for spells,” Dean said.

“And once angels are extinct, it’ll be even harder to get them in the future,” Sam added. “Yeah, Cas, it was worth it. And we’re grateful.”

Dean smiled, taking his seat in the car. “Hey, look at it this way, buddy.” He turned to grin at Cas as he clambered into the back, fighting his person-sized appendages. “Now we’ve got an _infinite_ supply of angel feathers.”

Castiel flicked his eyes upward, then slammed the car door shut behind him. “Just drive.”

  
  


As mad as Dean was about the sandy crumbs left over in his car’s footwell, he could understand why Cas felt the urge to roll in dirt.

Dean had been hungry enough in the past that he was willing to eat out of dumpsters, and had looked ponderously at roadkill. He’d been hot enough that he could’ve taken a nap in a freezer. He’d been cold enough he would’ve happily set himself on fire. And, yeah, he’d been itchy enough that he would’ve done whatever crazy things wild animals did to rescue themselves from that torture.

Cas was probably going insane by now. It had been three days and Dean hadn’t seen him relax for a single moment without flexing his wings, twitching, scratching, squirming, or needing to go outside for a lot of deep breathing and some quiet, muffled growling.

All this wasn’t even taking into account the _weight_ of them. Maybe the bones were hollow like bird wings were. But Dean had examined an oil-glossed secondary feather, and it was about the size of Dean’s forearm and the weight of a packet of fries. Which was impressive, and maybe not too heavy by itself, but Cas had over a hundred of those things, not including the fluffy ones buried underneath, or the muscles that held them up. It must be like carrying an angry ten-year-old child in either arm. All the time. Night and day.

Dean didn’t know why Cas was itchy. Maybe wings came pre-loaded with fleas. Maybe the feathers were just prickly. Maybe Cas’ bloodflow had to make extra rounds to nourish both limbs, and wings that were once shadow rather than flesh suddenly taking on veins and arteries was a change too hard to process.

Either way, the result was that Cas needed a double bed to himself, as his bedmates were rude ones. Dean and Sam shared the other bed, head-to-toe, Dean hugging his pillow, eyes set on his best friend’s wriggling shadow late into the night. Cas had tossed and turned and panted for four hours now, trying to stay silent but letting out a faint whimper every ten minutes or so.

Dean’s heart kinda ached for him. He didn’t know what to do any better than Cas or Sam did. Even Rowena had recommended an over-the-counter sedative and left it at that.

Cas lurched in the bed again, rolling over, a huge _whoomph_ of air and sound rushing past over Dean as the wings readjusted. The cool tips of Cas’ primary feathers rested on Dean’s bare ankle.

Dean nudged Cas’ wing with his toes.

No response.

He nudged again.

Castiel’s wing crooked back, tucked into the bed. Castiel sighed. He was awake.

“You okay?” Dean whispered, knowing it was a pointless question.

“I’m fine.”

Silence.

Castiel then sat up, Dean saw his silhouette rise. He had to wear his clothes in bed, as the wings had manifested straight through the back of his trenchcoat, and now he couldn’t take it off. However, besides underwear, he was bare from the waist down. Dean wasn’t gonna say anything, but frankly, after all the dusty baths and no soapy baths, whenever he was in close proximity (which was often), Cas’ aroma was kinda starting to make Dean’s nose wrinkle. Without his power he wasn’t auto-cleaning any more.

Castiel groaned, planting his forehead in his open hands.

“Hey.” Dean snuck out of bed, tugging at his t-shirt so it unwrinkled and dropped to cover more of his boxers. “You need something?”

“I need these— These _things_ gone. I need them _off_ me. I need—” Cas let out a harsh breath, then demanded, “Give me your sword.”

“Swor—” Dean shook his head. “Oh, hell, no. Hell _no_ , Cas.”

“How do you expect to proceed from here?” Castiel asked, low voiced, careful not to wake Sam. “I can’t live the rest of my life like this. Where is the end? How long will I have to cope with this? Neither of us know for sure that it won’t be forever, Dean, so don’t lie and tell me it’ll ‘get easier’ soon.”

Dean sat on Castiel’s bed, looking at the scared shape that shivered in the middle of it.

“Nothing helps?” Dean asked. “At all?”

“Nothing.”

“What kind of itch is it?”

“Burning. I feel like I could... _could_ soothe it, if only I could get under the feathers. But even the downy feathers are too thick. When I scratch all I can do is shift feathers around.”

“Could pluck you like a chicken.”

“I have thought about that,” Castiel said. He sounded like he was smiling. “But once the feathers start growing back I can only assume the itch would be just as awful, if not worse.”

Dean hummed in thought.

“I just—?” Castiel flopped back to his bed. “I want to take everything off. Drench myself in cold water. And just _stay_ there.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Not impossible.”

“Hm?”

Dean reached to clap his hand on Castiel’s bare knee. “C’mon. Bathroom’s right there. There’s a full-size tub. Might be a squeeze but it ain’t the worst idea.”

Castiel sat up again. “But my coat—?”

“Hey, I’m handy with a sewing kit,” Dean uttered, getting up. “If I snip it right, and stitch it right, you’ll never know we cut it off you.”

Castiel hesitated, but then got to his feet. “Sam?”

Dean glanced to his snoring brother. “Eh, leave him. Not enough room for five in the bathroom anyway.” He cocked his head towards the ensuite door. He went in first, turning on the light. It became warmly lit by the 1970s seashell sconces over the mirror, for some reason tinted pink while the rest of the tiles and the bath were a pale, greyish green. Castiel followed Dean in, bare feet patting onto tiles, untucked white shirt and dirty trenchcoat whispering with each movement in the silence.

Dean checked outside one more time, then shut the door. “Okay.”

Castiel flinched his wings close, turning his back on Dean. “I suppose I have to stay very still.”

Dean hummed, stroking a hand over the nape of Castiel’s coat, examining it. “There’s a single seam on the back of the collar. If I cut down there, to the cape part, go along the top edge of that, _then_ split into two to reach your wings, most of the stitches would be hidden later. I could make some kind of buttoned flap thing so we can get your coat on and off.”

Castiel looked back over his shoulder. “You don’t have to do all that work.”

“What’s the alternative? You’re either walking around in rags or we ditch the coat, and I don’t think any of us want that.”

Castiel lowered his head, silent but grateful.

“Besides,” Dean smiled. “Good practise for when I’m on _Project Runway_.”

Castiel squinted.

“C’mon.” Dean squeezed Castiel’s shoulder tight. “I’ll go get the medical kit – that’s where the sewing stuff is. You... You run yourself a bath. Plug the drain. And I’ll go pick your soap outta my bag. There’s some bubbly stuff in there somewhere. Alright?”

Castiel gave Dean a soft, twinkly-eyed smile. “Alright.”

“‘Kay.” Dean nudged his side, then headed out, quiet as he crept past Sam.

  
  


Dean returned to find Cas in exactly the same position and state as before, except there was a quarter-full bathtub beside him. Dean grinned and shut the door, holding up two bottles in a plastic sandcastle bucket. “What d’ya think, persimmon and pomegranate, or dog shampoo?”

“ _Dog_ shampoo? Why do you have that?”

Dean shrugged. “Hair like that? Always knew Sam was half mutt. Dunno. Found it in his bag. Looks a few years old, basically untouched.”

Castiel was distracted, scruffing his fingertips into the part of the wing that rose past his right shoulder. He stretched that wing in agitation once his fingers pulled back, and he almost knocked the sconce off the wall.

“Easy,” Dean warned. “Turn around, let’s get the coat off.”

Castiel remained steady and stiff as Dean took hold of his sharpest scissors, holding the back of the collar up. He had to snip a few times to get through the tough fabric, but then it seemed easier, following just to the left of the seam. He reached the join between collar and coat before he realised he could just snip through the stitches, and that way he didn’t lose an eighth of an inch of fabric.

As planned, he made it to the side of the cape before plunging his scissors down, cutting in a straight slide to the left wing. Castiel gave a small gasp of surprise or relief as the left part of his coat slumped away. Dean did the same again for the right, and let the coat collapse at Castiel’s feet.

“How much do you care about the shirt?” Dean asked.

“Much less.”

“Awesome.”

Dean snipped from the bottom up, baring Castiel’s lower back. Castiel undid the buttons, and took it off easily.

He gave such a _sigh_ once he was topless. He cocked his head deeply to one side, then the other, stretching his neck.

“Better?” Dean asked.

“So much better.”

“We’ll deal with the clothes later. They need a wash too. Right now— Bet there’s a ton of dust packed in between your feathers. We’re gonna need to flush that crap out or soaking them won’t make any difference.” Dean pat-patted Castiel’s bare shoulder blade. “Hop in the tub, and we’ll go from there.”

Castiel turned, wings thumping the sink – the faucet began blasting water that rebounded from the bowl and sprayed in a violent hiss across the mirror, walls, floor— Dean slammed the tap back off, panting. “Careful.”

“Sorry. It’s still hard to know where they are...”

Dean nodded, pretending he understood.

Castiel touched his black boxers – Dean’s, actually, since three days wearing the same white shorts was two days too many – and then checked with Dean.

“Keep ‘em on for now,” Dean said. “You can wash the rest of you once we’ve done the hard bit.”

Castiel stepped into the tub, hand on the back wall so he didn’t slip. It took some effort to angle the wings up so the long tips hopped over the bath rim and sloshed into the water. Castiel turned one way, then the other, then sat down facing the faucet and detachable shower nozzle, knees bent.

Dean knelt beside the bath, waiting until Cas had flexed and flapped his wings enough that they weren’t completely crooked. Even a full-sized bathtub wasn’t big enough for a man-sized person and his two feathered nemeses.

“Okay.” Dean held out his hands, as if he had magic powers that would keep the wings still. “All settled?”

Castiel scratched at the join between his skin and wings, giving a frustrated huff.

Dean reached for the sandcastle bucket, and scooped up bathwater. It was tepid; the exact middle between room temperature and warm. As he poured it over Cas’s right wing, he guessed tepidity was fine; Cas wouldn’t be cold, but it was cool enough to seem soothing to a burning itch.

It took several minutes to drench the wings, pouring and sloshing and giving Cas a moment to wriggle. Cas even lay down a few times, rolling back and forth in the bath, making the water level rise and fall.

Eventually he was dripping, and as Dean dug his fingers between sodden primary covert feathers to check, he confirmed Cas was soaked right through to the downy inner fluff.

Dean looked down into the bath and saw dirt. He sighed, and reached to unplug the drain. Castiel frowned, but then understood when he saw the circling swirl of _bits_ , and then the linear flush of dark brown as the bath eventually emptied, leaving a streak of sand between the plug and Castiel’s bare feet.

Dean got up and dislocated the shower head, kneeling again beside the bath, knees on the tiles. He reached to start the shower, hand under the flow to check the temperature. When it was just warm, he aimed it close to Castiel’s back, at the point where the wings met skin. There were fresh scars there, red stretch marks. His body was still adjusting to new appendages that grew out of nowhere.

Castiel shivered, back arching.

“Cold?” Dean asked.

“N-No, I just—” Castiel gripped his knee and scowled. “Hmmmm.”

Dean shifted the shower away. “Tell me, Cas. Hotter, colder, less pressure?”

Castiel shook his head. “It’s fine.”

“But you’re squirmy.”

“It’s—?” Castiel tilted his head. “It feels nice.”

“Okay?” Dean hesitated, not yet returning to washing. “So can I keep going?”

Castiel nodded.

Dean placed a hand on Castiel’s marginal coverts – that is, the short feathers nearest to his shoulders when he folded his wings in; his wing forearms, if you will – and there, Dean dragged fingers against the growth, water droplets splattering away each time a small feather flicked.

Cas’ feathers were not entirely waterproof, the way a duck’s were, but his magpie blue-purple sheen did repel droplets, making it hard to keep him anything other than moist. Dean aimed the shower spray under a line of feathers, water rushing up – and Cas gasped, hands flying to grip the sides of the bath.

“Is this helping?” Dean asked.

Castiel nodded furiously.

Dean was surprised, but smiled. “Sweet.”

He went row by row, spraying water up under the feathers, convinced it tickled.

Soon Dean moved from marginal coverts to the secondaries, then the primaries: the flight feathers at the tips. Those were the big, long ones - almost as long as Castiel’s thigh - and there wasn’t much to do with them, as there was no fluff to soak. Some dirt dropped out from where feathers overlapped, but they were otherwise fine, as Cas didn’t even have muscle there to itch.

Once done rinsing out both wings, Dean looked up to see Castiel had shut his eyes, apparently enjoying this modicum of relief.

Dean shut off the shower for a bit, plugging the bath once more, as the water now ran clear. It was silent in here without the gush of the shower or the splutter of the plughole drinking the water down.

Dean kneeled back with an accidental groan. His knees hurt; his lower back ached. He rolled his shoulders, eyes shut. “God. I’m too old for this.”

“Are we done?” Castiel asked, wary.

Dean eyed the soap he’d brought. “Nah. We’re like, one quarter done. Gotta soap up, rinse off. Then dry.” He hung his head, feeling his spinal cord pull at the back of his neck. “Hhmmnng.”

“Is there a way you could be more comfortable?”

Dean huffed. “Short of getting in the bath with you and spooning you from behind? Uh. No. Just gotta— Just gotta take a break and deal. C’mon. What am I doing, washing a giant bird? I’ve been through worse.” He placed a hand in his lower back and pushed, wincing as something clicked. “Hmm.”

“Why don’t you?” Castiel said.

“What?” Dean met his eyes, not sure what he meant.

Castiel seemed tentative, those striking blue eyes so perfectly round, holding Dean’s gaze as he rolled a shoulder. “Join me. In the bath. At least you’ll have back support. And it would be easier to reach both wings without straining. I’d do it myself, Dean, really, but it’s simply not possible. I can’t reach the back.”

Dean lapped at his lips, a thrill in his belly. His eyes darted to the closed bathroom door, then back to Cas. “Are you serious?”

“Yes?” Castiel smiled. “Unless there’s some distinct reason you don’t want to be physically close to your best friend when he needs you the most.”

Dean scoffed. “What. C’mon. That’d be crazy.”

“Yes.” Castiel’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “It would.”

Dean sucked his lower lip, pretending his cheeks weren’t burning. “Umm.” He glanced away, then back. “Okay. Okay, let’s—” He grunted as he got up, knees cracking, back aching. He groaned, struggling to stand straight, but soon managing it. His spine clicked. “God-dammit. When did I get so crunchy?”

“About three years ago; you’ve been steadfastly ignoring it.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Cas. That was rhetorical.” He looked down at his t-shirt, well-splashed and dark across the middle. “Keep this on or take it off?”

With a careless head tilt, Cas said it was up to Dean. He then began scooting his fabric-covered ass down the bath, leaving space for him. While Dean decided, Castiel reached to turn on the faucet, starting to fill the bath again.

“Aw, no, is it gonna be cold?” Dean asked.

Castiel looked at him, then looked back to the faucet, and turned the water warmer.

Dean breathed out through narrowed lips. “‘Kay. Thanks.” He wrenched his t-shirt off, tossing it on the pile of Cas’ clothes. “Here we go.” He stepped into the puddle behind Cas, slowly lowering himself to wet his ass. He hissed, relaxing, legs apart around Castiel’s waist.

He bit his lip, glad Cas couldn’t see him blush.

Castiel had really nice shoulders. There were a few dark freckles there, decorating the pale muscle that Dean could see past the wings.

Dean gulped. “Um.” He adjusted his bowlegs, stretching them further past Castiel’s hips. If it weren’t for the giant, damp, feathery beasts between him and Cas, this would be kinda intimate. As it was, his inner ankles were pressed to Castiel’s bare, hairy thighs, which was something.

Dean reached out of the bath and picked up the two shampoo bottles. He opened both, sniffed both, finding they were both pleasant enough. He then capped them again, bending his head to compare the ingredients. The light was low, so he had to squint, but nodded as he learned.

“What are you doing?” Castiel asked.

“There’s sodium laureth sulfate in the pomegranate stuff. Fine for car engines, decent for real grubby hair after a hunt, but, uh. Wouldn’t chance it on the wings.” He put the human shampoo down on the tiles outside the bath. “You’ve probably got some real important feather oils or somethin’ we don’t wanna mess with.”

“So you’re going to be washing me with dog shampoo,” Castiel intoned.

“Looks like. It’s _all-natural_. No wonder Sam bought this one.”

Castiel sat forward, taking a deep breath. He leaned to turn off the faucet. They didn’t need much water at all, as the volume of their bodies pushed the waterline several inches up the bath. It was deep enough that Little Dean felt the rippling surface through his boxers.

Dean scooped a bit more water over Cas with the bucket, then uncapped the dog shampoo and squirted some right onto the tops of his wings. Shampoo set aside, he readied his hands to scrunch. “Here goes, I guess.”

He began to rub and massage Castiel’s wings – the part that, from where he sat, kind of seemed like the handlebars of a bike. Castiel flinched and shuddered, soon starting to rock with his breaths. “Oh...” His head lolled to one side, and he grasped his hair. “Oh...”

“Feelin’ okay?” Dean asked, working his fingertips under the feathers, feeling the soft ovals flip right out of the way. He had no idea how it felt for Cas, but for himself, it felt pretty good, soapy and slick, scooching sensitive fingertips through lumpy, _soft_ fuzz. These were feathers without hard stems; they simply flopped where Dean nudged them, but he was careful not to bend them the wrong way.

Castiel’s breath had gone ragged.

“Cas?” Dean asked. “Seriously, is this good?”

Castiel nodded a few times, hesitant, then bold. He clutched at his forehead, fingers in his hair. “Yeah...”

Dean grinned. “Marginal coverts. Or, uh, lesser secondary coverts. I forget.”

Castiel gave a breathless grin, trying to peer back over his shoulder. “You studied?”

“Hey, my best friend just sprouted wings. You bet your feathery ass I’m gonna do research. I’m not the only one with an Internet connection around here.”

“Ahh—” Castiel spasmed, breathing hard. “Dean...!”

Dean felt a flash in his heart. “You like that?”

Castiel nodded. “I think, perhaps...? I think that part of my wings may be an erogenous zone.”

Dean was stung with alarm, fingers lifting.

“Nodon’tstop,” Castiel breathed. “Dean. Dean, please—”

“Cas,” Dean flashed a nervous grin. “Um. I don’t know if you mean— I’m really hoping— At least—”

“What?”

“I don’t think those words mean what you think they mean,” Dean uttered, blushing. “Erogenous zone?”

“A sensitive point of the physical form that causes pleasure.”

“Yyyyeah but, but, it’s like, sexy pleasure. Turns you on.”

Castiel’s wings seemed to bolster up a bit. Dean couldn’t see his expression, but guessed it was thoughtful.

“ _Is_ that what you meant?” Dean asked.

“It... was the closest English phrase I could find to explain what I meant. But. No, I suppose not.”

“Okay.” Dean relaxed and put his fingers back where they were. “Thank God.” Castiel’s body and wings seemed to sink closer to his touch, a breath flying from his lips. “Just feels good, right? Like a head massage.”

“Yes.” Castiel nodded. “Mm-hm. Although I’ve never had a head massage so I can’t be sure.”

“Oh, well, then,” Dean said with a friendly grin. “Gotta give you one of those once we’re done with this.”

Castiel chuckled. “I think I might appreciate that. Thank you, Dean.”

Dean was about to reply, but then decided Cas didn’t need to know he’d been joking. “Sure.”

Satisfied that the backs of Cas’ wings were all soapy now, Dean rinsed them down with bucket water, splashing his own crotch in the process. He had soap suds on his boxers, tickling his privates a little as those tiny bubbles slowly popped.

“I can’t do your whole wings from here,” Dean said, realising. “You’re gonna have to stretch them out so I can get them with the shower later, they’re too damn big. Besides... I don’t think you need everything cleaned, right? You’re barely three days outta the angel gate, and I washed the dust out already. You just need a rinse, maybe.”

“The undersides need more of a wash, yes,” Castiel agreed.

“Okay. Just rinse this out, then we’ll flip you.” Dean poured again, fingers running down the upper muscle of Castiel’s wing, as thick as his wrist, as strong as his thigh. He reached the join between feather and skin, and rubbed there, getting under the feathers.

“Ah!” Castiel jerked. Then he chuckled brightly. “I didn’t expect that.”

“Whoops, right, yeah,” Dean uttered, moving his hand off skin and back to feathers. “Sorry.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” Castiel assured him. “I have trouble scratching there anyway.”

“Really?” Dean was wary, but returned his fingers to Castiel’s spine. Pouring once again, he let his thumb rise, feeling the bumps of Castiel’s spinal column, feeling his back arch into his touch, hearing a low drone of relief. Dean smirked a little, tilted his head as he rinsed and stroked again.

“Hmmmmmm,” Castiel purred, letting out a sigh. “Yes. Right there. Right – there.” He said it so softly.

Dean stroked his fingers up, combing through fluff at the join on the left, then switching the bucket to that hand and combing the right.

Castiel groaned, head down, hands in his hair. “Oh, it’s so good. It’s so _good_ , Dean... I fff— I feel like I’ve been waiting for that for years.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, trying to act like he hadn’t been waiting too. “Cool. Um— Just relax, okay?”

“Okay...” Castiel groaned again and lay back, falling onto Dean’s chest, eyes shut, wings becoming the bread in their Dean-and-Cas sandwich. “Mmmm.”

Dean had frozen, hands hovering over Cas’ shoulders, eyes fixed on the far wall. “Uh. Cas?”

Castiel let out a breath, light with bliss. “Yeah?”

Dean lapped at his lips, blinking rapidly. “You should, maybe, I don’t know, just a suggestion— Sit up?”

Castiel opened his eyes, looking around. “Oh.” He sat up sharply. “I didn’t even realise. Apologies.”

Dean chuckled. “Well, I did say relax.”

“You did indeed.”

Dean gulped, inching his heels closer in the tub until he was ready to stand up. He pushed up, thick drooling splatters of water running from his boxers, tickly rivulets zig-zagging down his legs. “Alright. Bear with me here.” He stepped over Castiel’s shoulder, one hand on the wall. He then hopped to the other side, steadying himself. Then he sat back down in the lukewarm water, facing Cas, awkwardly lifting each heel so it hooked over and then was hidden behind Castiel’s thighs. His toes touched feathers, and were tickled.

Castiel gazed at Dean with contentment in his eyes. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean’s grin came out crooked, but helpless. “Heyy.”

He drew a deep breath, head slowly tilting.

Castiel smiled at him, so damn sweetly.

Suddenly Dean came to his senses and sat up straighter, huffing. “Wings. Right. Gotta.” He cleared his throat, then beckoned. “Let’s soap these puppies up.”

“Puppies?” Castiel asked, amused. “If these are puppies maybe the dog shampoo isn’t so strange after all.”

“Well, they’re kinda energetic and boisterous, so.” Dean shrugged. “And kinda cute, I guess.”

“Cute?” Castiel’s eyebrows nudged together. “They’re not cute.”

“Believe me, I didn’t think so either, not when they were dropping dirt in my car.”

Castiel seemed confused. “Do you find them appealing?”

Dean opened his mouth, rolling a shoulder as he soaped his palms, then sank his fingers into the alcoves of Castiel’s hunching wings. “I mean, they’re awesome. Obviously. Maybe ‘cute’ wasn’t the right word.”

“‘Awesome’, as in, majestic and inspiring wonder.”

“As in they’re freaking epic, Cas,” Dean smiled. “C’mon. You got an extra pair of punching arms. Could whisk the feet out from under a crowd of zombies. Maybe you could fly, given some practise and a magic spell or two. Wings that only appear in thunder and lightning and faulty wiring are one thing, but a couple’a badass things like this? That you can touch and feel and break things with?” Dean whistled an impressed note. “I know you hate them, but...” Dean shrugged. “Kinda hard for me to hate something this neat.”

Castiel turned his chin down, thinking, or sulking. He slowly crossed his legs, knees on the sides of the tub, ankles pushing on the undersides of Dean’s thighs. “I...” he started. “I didn’t really think of them like that.”

“Like how?”

“Like weapons. Like potential assets. Like a miracle. Or something aesthetically pleasing.”

“You just saw them as heavy, itchy problems.”

“Can you blame me?”

“I could blame you for anything, given a tough enough circumstance,” Dean muttered.

He caught Castiel’s eyes, then chuckled. “Nah. Bad joke. Don’t blame you. And—” Dean paused for a bit, letting the feathers go. “And, look, if I’m honest, Cas, I don’t blame you for anything else, either. I’ve said some crappy stuff in the past. Doesn’t bear repeating. But.” Dean hung his head, swallowing down his shame. “Heat of the moment. That’s all. Living through the same circular arguments over and over. Was what my dad used to do, actually. Don’t know why fate treated us like this? Blame Dean. Everyone had an equal hand in this particular apocalypse? Eh, probably Dean’s fault. Not sayin’ that excuses me, Cas, but just... I’m still working on it. I’m always working on it. Every so often some other garbage personality trait pops into my conscious awareness. And I’m still working on the last five.”

Dean looked away, jaw working as he gulped. “I’m sorry, is what I’m saying. Sorry for treating you like... like an ‘asset’, or whatever it was you said. You’re more than that, buddy. So much more.”

He chuckled, realising he was saying all this while in his underwear, in a bath, with his legs spread around his friend. Not even wings between them as a barrier, any more.

Looking down at his slowly-pruning fingertips, he sighed. “And I’m sorry for making you feel like if we ask for something, you have to do it. You didn’t have to, Cas. You didn’t have to use up that last spark of power just so we’d have spell ingredients. But you did it anyway. And now look.” Dean shrugged. “It’s not your fault. Yeah, it was a stupid decision you made, but for all intents and purposes, we made it for you.”

“Dean, no,” Castiel said softly. “Please don’t think that.”

“But isn’t it true?”

Castiel looked up to the ceiling, drawing a breath through his parting lips. “Perhaps. Yes. But that doesn’t change the fact that I did do this willingly. Anything I do for you I do willingly. With resentment, on occasion. But I do it because, ultimately, I want to.” Slowly, his hand shifted through the water, leaving ripples on his way to Dean. He held his hand, stroking a wrinkled thumb over Dean’s warmer, smoother hand. “Because I—” He smiled. “Well. You know how I feel about you.”

Dean looked far away, desperate not to remember those words, those beautiful, terrifying words Cas had rasped when he thought he was dying. Regardless, Dean felt a smile quirk up his lips, loving and hating that Cas saw it.

Castiel patted Dean, then withdrew his hand. “Please rinse me. The bubbles are tickling me.”

Relieved at the change of subject, Dean looked around for the bucket. There it was; the red plastic peeked between Castiel’s left wing and the bath. Dean leaned forward to get it, needing to stretch long and press up to Castiel’s chest. Dean bit his lip, feeling heat on his neck, stomach, Cas’ hand on his hip—

“Got it,” Dean said, sitting back, face hot. “Right. Let’s.” He scooped up some already-soapy water and threw it against Castiel’s inner wing. Castiel tried to adjust it so gravity could get the water where it needed to be, but it was a tough move.

So, instead, Dean scooped up handfuls of water and placed them against Cas’ axillary feathers. His wing armpit, that is. It was warm there, and Castiel stretched his wings a little to let Dean dig deeper into the fluffy nook.

Cas shut his eyes, smiling.

“Does this tickle?” Dean asked. “If it were me, this would tickle.”

“It’s merely pleasant,” Castiel said, but his low voice and slowly-licked lips said otherwise.

“Just ‘merely’?” Dean asked.

Castiel opened his eyes just enough that Dean saw a line of twinkling blue. “Merely,” he said again.

Dean pursed his lips and lifted his chin, eyes on Cas’ axillaries. “Mm-hm.” He wriggled his fingers, tickling on purpose – but Cas did not laugh, he gasped, eyes shut, body relaxing.

“Tell me again it doesn’t tickle,” Dean grinned.

“It— It doesn’t,” Castiel breathed, whole body squirming to get an inch closer to Dean. “But ih— It does feel...” His head lolled to his shoulder and he groaned, as Dean scrunched fingers into the warmest, deepest inner crook of both Cas’ wings. Castiel spread them out completely, one rising up to rest against the tiled wall flush to the bath, the other extending to touch the other far wall, past the sink and toilet. “Mmmmm,” Castiel moaned, head bowed so deeply the back of his neck showed, hands moving to grip Dean’s shoulders for stability. “Dean...”

Dean’s breath stuttered, eyes not sure where to land. Cas’ blush, his bitten lip, his flushed, unhairy chest? The dark, dripping wing that pressed, bent, to the wall on Dean’s left? The gorgeous, majestic appendage of Biblical standards, shivering in pleasure as it shaded the puddled floor? Or his own hands, buried in shadowed plumage, no longer needed but clearly wanted?

Castiel breathed deeply, and exhaled, hands moving from Dean’s bare shoulders to the sides of his neck. “Hmmm.”

Dean slipped his hands from the pits of Cas’ wings to the wing-skin join again, knowing Cas liked being touched there. Castiel bit his lip again, sitting up an inch taller. Dean ran his hands around Cas’ ribs and then up his chest, over to the backs of his shoulders to the marginal coverts, giving an assuring squeeze.

Then, finally, he rested his hands on Cas’ shoulders, thumbing his hot neck, mirroring what Cas did for him.

At last, Castiel opened his eyes. Dark, dilated pupils quickly shrank back to normal, yet he gazed at Dean with a craven intensity, wanting more, but simply thankful for what Dean had given already.

Dean wet his lips. “I think if I rinsed you off now, that would be fine. We can go dry you off.”

Castiel seemed disappointed. His eyes lowered, his face seemed to freeze. “Okay.” He looked away, down the long line of his left wing as it shifted, zig-zagged, and folded back to his side.

Dean got up with a slosh, and fetched the showerhead. As promised, he began rinsing the wings down, bath now unplugged so the soap froth was carried away with the water flow. He gripped Castiel’s left wing in a strong hand, manipulating its flexible joints so he could wash it over the bathtub. To Dean it didn’t seem especially heavy – like a corgi, or a sack of potatoes – but Castiel took most of the burden, holding up the wing like an umbrella over him, so the water drip-dropped down and wet his hair.

He ran his hands back through his hair, then pulled forward with his wrists, apparently washing like a cat, or a hamster. Dean laughed, seeing him do that, but Cas didn’t seem to get what Dean found amusing.

“C’mere,” Dean said, rolling his eyes as he let go of wing number one. He beckoned, and reached for wing two. “Promised you a head massage, right? Lemme get this done and I’ll wash your hair.”

Castiel rotated himself in the bath, so Dean had an easier time washing his right wing. A pair of feathers dropped out as he did; Cas’ wings weren’t in perfect condition, but until Dean had gotten this close he never would’ve noticed. There were flight feathers missing, and the spaces drew attention like a few black keys stolen from a piano keyboard. The pattern was broken, the functionality was flawed, but in all, it was still a piano; these were still beautiful wings.

Castiel tucked the wings to his back once Dean was done, hunching forward at the renewed weight.

“Worst backpack ever, huh,” Dean said, as Castiel turned in the tub again, facing the faucet. Dean set one foot in the tub, keeping one outside. He lay the still-running showerhead in the base of the tub, and stepped in, kneeling behind Cas’ back.

Cas exhaled in bliss as Dean set the waterflow atop his scalp; he bent his head forward, then he bent his head back. He groaned deeply as Dean carded his fingers through the locks, ploughing five white trails in a soft black grassland that quickly grew back again.

Once Cas was sodden and steaming, Dean leaned his stomach on Castiel’s wings, learning all the way forward to turn off the water. Castiel squeaked, pressed by Dean’s weight, but Dean just laughed, squishing his shoulder with a hand.

“Just a little of this,” Dean promised, human shampoo in hand. “Relax for me.”

Castiel’s shoulders lowered, head up, awaiting a touch.

Dean clipped the bottle closed, and lathered the soap in his hands before sinking his fingers into Cas’ hair. He slid to the scalp, spreading the sweet-smelling shampoo far and wide, every part of Cas’ head, including his sideburns. Dean grinned to himself, feeling stubble. “Your hair’s way longer than mine,” Dean said, in quiet surprise. “Thicker. ‘S kinda nice.”

“Feels amazing,” Castiel breathed. “Ah— _Ouh_ , that’s wonderful. Yes. Yes, this is what it feels li— aaaah. What the wings felt like. Like a h-hhead massage.”

“Not an erogenous zone, then,” Dean said. “Just a zone.”

Castiel chuckled. “Your hands are so... hm. Good hands...”

“Yeah?” Dean gave Cas a little finger-nuzzle.

“Dean...”

“Yeah?”

Castiel paused, then grinned. “No, I... I’m expressing gratitude.”

“By saying my name and nothing else.”

“Yes.”

“Okay then.” Dean bent to kiss Castiel’s shoulder, then reached for the showerhead again. “Turn the thing on for me?”

Castiel hesitated – twice – but then put a shaking hand on the faucet and turned on the showerhead.

Dean hummed to himself, rinsing away the foam in easy curves, past Cas’ ear, from his forehead back, finger-combing his scalp as he went.

“Dean?”

“Don’t hafta keep saying it, man. You’re welcome.”

Castiel hiccuped a laugh. “No, Dean, I— I liked the kiss. Thank you for that. Specifically.”

“What kiss?” Dean rinsed out the left of Castiel’s hair, fingering upward, massaging as he went. Cas’ head bobbed with his pressure, tilted when Dean tilted him.

“Seriously,” Dean said, patting Castiel’s shoulder. “The hell you talkin’ about?”

Castiel breathed out, trying to look back over his shoulder. “Um. Nothing, I suppose. Doesn’t matter. Maybe I imagined it.”

“What, that I kissed you?” Dean laughed. “Aw, that’s cute, Cas. Real cute. I think I’d notice somethin’ like that. Even at four in the morning. Yeah, you... you totally imagined it. Mm-hm.” The doubt had crept into Dean’s voice, and they both heard it. Dean felt an echoing coolness on his lips, like he’d pressed them to wet skin.

Had he...?

Castiel smiled, then uttered, so quietly, “I wouldn’t mind imagining it again.”

Dean’s heart leapt. Did Cas just ask for a kiss? _Multiple_ kisses?

“Ohk— Okay,” Dean stammered, chest tight. “Maybe later?”

Castiel fell into a soft and smiling silence after that. He wrapped his arms around his bare knees, chin on his wrists; he purred occasionally as Dean rinsed his hair, stroking the back of his neck, giving a little massage as he went.

At last, Dean finished rinsing off the wings completely. He got out of the tub, turned off the shower, and hung it back in its place. “C’mon,” he encouraged, cupping Castiel’s jaw, stroking his cheek with a thumb. “Let’s get you dry before you fall asleep.”

Indeed, Cas looked drowsy. Eyelids drooping, mouth halfway slack; his breathing had slowed, and he hadn’t twitched in about five minutes. It took him a few slow blinks before he looked up at Dean, then came to his senses, unravelling himself from his ball of relaxation.

He took Dean’s hands, grunting as they both heaved him to his feet. If the wings were heavy before, they were unbearable now. Dean saw the strain on Cas’ face and did the only thing he could think of: he grabbed Cas’ left wing and lifted it. It was heavier than Sam’s duffel bag, and that was saying something.

Then, as Castiel stomped his way out of the bath, hands on the walls, Dean took the other wing too, holding them like the world’s worst bridal train.

Water poured off the feathers and onto the floor without pause, and Dean trod carefully, desperate not to slip. He looked away as Castiel bent down, rolling off his underwear. Dean kept his gaze averted as Cas opened the bathroom door and trudged towards the bed.

Dean had to let his wings go, muttering, “Hang tight, bud, I’mma get towels. _All_ the towels.”

He returned to the practically-flooded bathroom. As he emptied the motel’s towel rack into his arms, he heard a nearby _floOOmphsssh_ , but thought little of it, assuming Cas was just adjusting himself. But then he returned to the bedroom to find the carpet soaked with dots of water underfoot, the wallpapered walls gleaming even in the dark, and Castiel breathing out an apologetic sound.

Dean sighed, chuckling. “Here.” He shoved the pile of towels at Castiel’s chest, then marched past him to turn on the now-damp lampshade between the two beds.

Sam was no longer snoring, and Dean smirked when he saw in the golden beam that there was a droplet sliding down his forehead. Despite a face twitch, and a clumsy hand reaching up to bat his own cheek, somehow he slept through.

Yet Dean refused to take that chance, not knowing what was gonna happen later. He reached down and patted his brother’s cheek a few times, unapologetic when Sam was disturbed and alarmed about it.

“Dean?” Sam squinted, looking blearily between Dean and the rest of the room. “What, what’s going on?”

“Take a walk, Sammy.” Dean quirked up a sorry-not-sorry half-grin. “Got, uh, some private matters to attend to.”

Sam sat up, baffled. But his eyes turned naturally to the other bed, where Cas sat, naked but for a pile of towels between his legs, eyes no doubt set lovingly on Dean – Cas rarely looked anywhere else, or in any other way, so it was a safe bet – and Sam’s face turned blank with comprehension and stoicism. Sam and Dean had prepared for this night, secretly, without a word between them, and now it was here.

Sam said nothing, but nodded, and got to his feet, leaving his bed unmade. He pulled on jeans, donned shoes without socks, and finally put on a hoodie, which he zipped up. He gave Dean one quick look – a smile – and Dean grinned back, reaching to give his brother a fist bump.

It was a good fist bump.

“Call me,” Sam said to Dean, on his way out. “Or—” He glanced at Cas – still naked, still looking at Dean. “Or don’t.”

Dean gave him a wink, then closed the motel door behind him. Sam’s footsteps faded into the night, jogging down a metal staircase.

Dean turned back to Cas and approached the bed, then sucked in a breath and looked away, realising again how _naked_ his friend was. He didn’t get a good look at his junk but it was definitely there.

Licking his lips, Dean looked down at himself. His boxers were sodden, and getting colder by the second.

“I’ll look away if you get changed,” Castiel said quietly. “But that said, your vulnerability would make me feel better about mine.”

Dean huffed, already knowing what he was about to do, but trying to hold it off for one more second. Castiel, now with lighter, dryer wings, started to wrap himself with three towels.

Allowing himself one more hesitation, Dean then gave up and took off his wet underwear, wincing as it tugged his leg hair on the way down. Cas offered him a towel, and he took it, shoving it between his ass cheeks first, then scrubbing down.

Once dry, he tossed the towel on the bed, then crawled up next to Cas, not sure if the squeeze around his heart, the flutter in his belly, or the tension between his legs meant he was feeling excited or scared or comforted. Maybe all three. Cas was warm. His bed was a mess, but it was cosy. And there was distinct tenderness in the way Castiel lay Dean’s discarded towel over his lap for him, affording him some modesty.

“Thanks,” Dean said. He scooted closer.

Castiel cradled Dean’s chin with his palm. Dean met his eyes, smiling when Cas smiled.

Castiel’s eyes lowered, then met Dean’s again, all the while keeping his hand on his jaw. Apparently having made up his mind, he leaned in and gave Dean a kiss on the cheek. Whether it was intended as thanks, affection, or invitation, Dean wasn’t sure, but he blushed hot, and giggled, looking away to Sam’s empty bed, then down at his lap.

Castiel nudged Dean’s jaw again with his fingertips, then dropped away.

“Um.” Dean’s eyes skipped from Cas’ lips to his shoulders to his folded wings, then back to his own lap, scrunching a hand in his towel. “You need me to do anything specific?” He took a big towel from Cas and began pressing it to Castiel’s wing, feeling its two-inch thickness between his palms. “Want me to tickle you more?”

Castiel chuckled, ducking his head. “What you’re doing is fine.”

So Dean kept stroking, changing out the parts of the towel wrapped over his hands, so he had a dry part each time.

Once he reached the join of skin and wing, Castiel groaned a little, head tilting, eyes shut, hand reaching to stroke through his wet hair.

“Shhh,” Dean hushed. “Sam’s out but it’s still the middle of the night. You’ll wake the neighbours.”

“Hmmm,” Castiel pleaded, stretching his wing a little closer to Dean.

A feather caught on the towel and fell out, and Dean took it and set it aside on the nightstand. He returned to Cas, but then glanced back to the nightstand, where Sam had left his toiletry bag.

A smirk rose on Dean’s face. “Now there’s an idea.” He leaned to open the pouch, a slow, ragged pull of the zipper. Two fingers inside to rummage, Dean pinched out the handle of a hairbrush. “Hah.”

Castiel watched as Dean plucked off Sam’s dead hair, dropped it on the carpet, then offered the brush with a grin.

“Sam wouldn’t mind?” Castiel asked.

“Not if we wash the thing after and don’t tell him,” Dean said, chin up, smiling as he began combing Castiel’s wing feathers. It was a wooden hairbrush, with nice wooden spokes, and they split the feathers easily without a snag.

Castiel watched it happen, at first unsure, but then Dean saw his eyelashes flutter, lips parting, and Cas arched his back, breathing, “Ahh—? _Yes_.”

“Good?” Dean asked, handling a wing with his left hand and combing it down with his right. He grinned semi-lavisciously as Castiel whimpered, hands clutching the bedsheets. Dean put down more pressure, biting his lip, groaning under his breath too. “Yeah, you like that.”

“Mmh?” Castiel squirmed, pushing into Dean’s contact. “Uoh...”

“Easy,” Dean soothed, pushing Cas by the shoulder, helping him lie down on his front. “I got ya.” He pushed a palm to Castiel’s back, running the brush down his right wing, deep into the soft feathers. It made a slick, slooshy, wet noise, soon becoming rhythmic.

“Dean,” Castiel whispered.

Dean positioned himself over Cas, straddling his ass but not touching. He bent to give Cas a soft kiss on the back of his neck, lingering for a moment to nose at his freshly-washed hair, then lifted up, returning to the wing-brushing.

Castiel murmured, “You kissed me on purpose.”

“Shuddup,” Dean whispered back, blushing. “Can I sit on you?”

Castiel made a gruff, amused sound. “If you must.”

So Dean sat right on Cas’ ass, feeling their buttcheeks squish together. He jumped once to readjust his weight, grinning when Castiel coughed out a laugh. “You got a real nice ass, Cas.”

“Nice ass yourself,” Castiel retorted, cheek in the sheets, one eye visible to Dean. He grinned softly, comfortably. “Even nicer hands.”

“Mm?” Dean bent to kiss his shoulder, breathing out there. A whisper, “Nice wings. Personality’s pretty hot too.”

Castiel hummed appreciation.

Dean headbutted his shoulder, then went back to combing, grinning helplessly as he did.

Somehow, playing with Cas like this was weirdly easy. Not complicated. Dean must’ve been in the right mood, or completely exhausted before all this started, because, damn, any familiar urges to pretend Cas being naked and wet and affectionate wasn’t fully and totally enjoyable to him were dead and gone. And good riddance, Dean thought.

Now all bets were off, Dean couldn’t resist. He sighed out a note of longing, then bowed down to Castiel’s back, giving his bare, bony shoulder a whole kiss, lips parted, smooching once. Twice. Three times. Dean’s face burned and his arousal _surged_ , but he swallowed it all down, letting go of a shaky, too-hot breath on Castiel’s skin, nuzzling, sucking his own lips as he felt them start to prickle and swell.

Castiel just breathed. Dean couldn’t see him smiling but he knew he was.

God, Dean wanted to kiss him all over. All freaking _over_. He rested his forehead on Castiel’s shoulder, both hands rising up his back, stroking hard, hairbrush forgotten somewhere in Cas’ left wing.

He met the connection of skin and wing and _scrunched_ , without shame or hesitation, knowing it would feel amazing for Cas. Castiel cried out, broken and squeaky; he tensed in the bed, burying his muzzle in the sheets to keep himself quiet. Dean kissed him and scrunched again, again.

Castiel droned with pleasure, toes curling audibly in the sheets further down the bed. His hands shook, taking clutches of the top sheet in his fists, gasping, _spasming_ as Dean gave his marginal coverts a good rub, fingertips down the muscle, flipping feathers against the growth. Castiel hissed, forehead deep in the mattress, groaning, arms and legs and buttcheeks tense, then relaxing.

Marginal coverts. Zone one.

Dean had learned about bird wings. And he’d learned about Cas’ wings. And now he could put it all to good use, if only for the purpose of making Cas feel like he was getting an all-over head massage.

Dean ran his nose down Castiel’s spine, kissing along the way. He met those new red stretch marks, and blew hot air into the softest feathers, hearing Cas chuckle, then chuckling himself.

Join between skin and wings. Zone two.

Dean surged his forearms under Castiel’s flat-out wings, hugging both, sinking fingers deep into his wing pits. Castiel relaxed in his grip, purring, going limp as Dean gave him a tickle. Somehow, his axillary feathers were like an off-button. Touch them right, and Cas became putty. Happy putty.

Axillaries. Zone three.

Dean sucked his lower lip, hungry eyes roaming the hills and plains of Castiel’s back, finding freckles, nosing at them. He rested his cheek just above Castiel’s left wing, eyes shut, nuzzling like a cat. He heard his stubble bristle there – and he remembered another place Cas liked to be touched.

Confident hands sank into Castiel’s thick hair, and began massaging his scalp. Castiel groaned like he was dizzy, somehow becoming even more limp than before. He stretched out one arm across the bed, moaning, “Mmmmmm...”

Head and scalp. Zone four.

“That’s it, Cas,” Dean uttered, all of him burning, a definite plumpness between his legs becoming less and less ignorable. The tip of his cock rested on Cas’ lower back, moving a fraction as Dean massaged. “Just lie there and feel good, I got ya. I got ya.”

“Mm,” Castiel turned his head, panting. “My neck,” he mumbled. “Kiss my neck.”

“You want that.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay.” Dean tucked his nose and chin in the crook of Castiel’s neck, where it was warm and cosy, and he began to suck, soft sounds and tingly feelings emerging from the contact. “Hmm, Cas.”

Neck. Zone five.

Cas’ breath came fast, excited, but then deepened and slowed as Dean cuddled with him from above, belly to Castiel’s spine. Dean copied his slowest breaths, lying as close as he could, kissing as softly as he dared.

Dean kissed and smooched and lavished Cas with love, but soon realised Cas had gone quiet... and still...

He breathed deeply, unresponsive to even a hot breath on his ear.

“Cas...?”

Aw.

He was out like a light. Guess the bath worked.

Dean stroked the hairbrush through damp feathers a few more times, then pulled back, chuckling to himself. He glanced to the couch, then to the bed under him, where Cas lay sprawled over the sheets, his ass so perfect and warm between Dean’s inner thighs.

Dean dismounted Cas’ backside and grabbed the sheets, tugging them up to cover himself, covering Cas. Reaching, he turned out the light... and got comfortable, and nudged himself right up to his winged friend. (Warm, if damp. Soft. Comforting.)

Closed his eyes...

And...

  
  


“There’s a museum exhibit open,” Castiel declared with both hands on the motel dining table, looking imploringly at Sam, who sat opposite, reading a TV Guide.

“Oh, yeah?” Sam glanced up. “What museum?”

“Every museum,” Castiel said. “If you find a museum there’ll be an exhibit. No doubt it would be fascinating and a good way to while away an afternoon. Perhaps also an evening.”

Sam started to smirk. “You’re that sick of Dean’s company, huh?”

Dean looked up from his bed, busy pulling off his boots. “What?”

“Sure, Cas. I mean,” Sam smiled, snapping the TV Guide closed and standing up, “it’s better than sitting around here all day. Let’s go find a museum. We can pretend your wings are a hunchback and hide them under an extra coat. Or, uh, say you’re part of the performance art exhibit.”

“No, you— It’s okay, I’ll stay here,” Castiel said lowly, looking carefully at Sam. “I just thought an outing might interest you.”

Sam slowly sat back down, and Castiel bristled, eyes lowering.

“There’s—” Castiel hand darted to the local newspaper, folded beside Sam’s lunch plate. “Movies. Probably good movies. Documentaries?”

“Do you _want_ to see a movie?” Sam asked, getting confused now.

“No,” Castiel said lightly, looking away. “You should go, though, Sam. I’m sure it would be fun.”

Sam let out a huff of amusement. “Are you trying to get me out of the motel?”

“What? No,” Castiel lied, eyes darting to the open bathroom door. He glanced back and smiled at Sam. “What reason would I have for wanting you to leave? That would be ridiculous.”

Sam’s eyes were bright with secrets. He looked sidelong at Dean, and Dean looked quizzically back, shugging. Dean didn’t know why Cas was pushing Sam out any more than Sam did.

Except then Sam chuckled aloud, head down, and stood up. “You two enjoy your privacy. I’ll go...” he picked up the newspaper, “watch a movie. At a museum. For the whole day.” With the air of an eye-roll, but giving no actual eye-roll, he strode towards the motel’s door. “Keys?” he said to Dean.

Dean fished in his pocket for the Impala’s keys, and tossed them to his brother.

With a knowing smirk, Sam shut the door and left.

The motel room rang with silence.

“Cas,” Dean said, bowing his head, “what’s this about?”

Castiel stood up, striding to the bathroom door. He waited in the doorway, looking back past his massive wings, meeting Dean’s eyes. “I need a bath. If you don’t mind.”

Dean gaped a little. “You kicked Sam out because you wanna take a bath?”

“I— I need you to wash me. I feel dirty.”

Dean hesitated. “Right now?”

Castiel nodded. As the distant sound of the Impala’s engine came and went, Castiel hastened into the bathroom and sat on the side of the bath, looking hopefully out at Dean.

Dean looked around, leaning forward, hands rubbing together – then he sighed and got up. “Dirty, huh. Don’t recall you takin’ a dust bath in the last three days.”

“I didn’t,” Castiel confirmed. He began undoing his shirt at the front, standing and rotating to let Dean unbutton the back. “But nonetheless, your assistance in bathing me eased my physical and emotional condition last time. And I find myself – w-wanting...” He glanced down, stripping himself naked. Fully naked, this time.

He climbed into the empty tub, stumbling over wings and feet as he turned, kneeling, waiting for Dean to join him.

Dean let out a breath, eyes unconsciously drawn to Castiel’s genitals.

“You don’t have to be naked,” Castiel said kindly.

Dean hesitated, but then yanked off his t-shirt, unbuckled his jeans. Boots off, socks off. He kept his boxer-briefs on. He stepped into the tub in front of Castiel, and sat down slowly, holding his eyes. He seemed uncertain.

“You’re really itchy?” Dean asked, reaching to sink his fingers into Castiel’s wings.

“AAAuhhh,” Castiel groaned in relief, folding forward, palms on Dean’s bare knees, head sinking between his bowed thighs. “Deeeannn...”

Dean scrunched his fingers, starting a rhythm.

“Dean,” Castiel’s body began to tingle, huffs of bliss expelled from his mouth. “Yes.” He tilted his head, taking Dean’s left hand and placing it on his neck. “Here.”

“Here?” Dean stroked Castiel’s neck, confused. “Neck’s itchy now?”

Castiel shook his head. “Hmmmmm.” He surged closer, wanting to be in Dean’s warm space, knocking knees on the bathtub, skin squeaking on ceramic. “Here.” He lifted his chin, eyes shut, biting his lip as he spread his wings, urging Dean’s right hand to the axillary feathers, that dark, intimate warmth under his wing. Castiel moaned, both of his own hands holding the backs of Dean’s, stroking them, fingers between each of Dean’s knuckles, stroking forward and back, forward and back.

“Cas,” Dean breathed, eyes flickering to Castiel’s lips, eyes, his naked chest. “Don’t we need water for a bath?”

“Yeah.” Castiel relaxed into Dean’s touches, mouth open, head turning to drag parted lips over his own hand, kissing his skin, kissing Dean’s. “In a minute. Just a minute.”

Dean let Castiel stroke his hand as he explored those wonderfully sensitive areas. Neck, wings, deep between the feathers. “Deeean...” Castiel’s breath stuttered as big, expressive surges of pleasure came up from inside him, pulsing. He bit his lip, whimpering – and, seeking more of Dean’s touches, he climbed into his lap, breathless. Pressed their chests together, both hands in Dean’s hair, eyes shut, moaning.

“Cas,” Dean breathed, eyes dark.

“Auh,” Castiel kissed his temple, wet, desperate. “Please. Wash me. Wash me like before, put— Put your hands... Ohh, Dean..”

Dean took Cas’ lower back and stroked it upward, looking up into Castiel’s eyes. “You want me to... wash you?”

Castiel nodded. “Feels good.”

“Okay,” Dean whispered. “Tell me where.”

“Wings. Neck. H-Hair, my back, I—”

“All over, got it,” Dean grinned. “Zones one through five.” He tried to move to turn the faucets on, but leaning forward pushed his middle against Castiel’s open legs, and—

Castiel began rutting against Dean, softly, touching his own neck, his own ears, as his head tilted, lips parted, body too hot, too hot, _too hot_. “ _Auhhh..._ ” He lowered both hands and stroked his own inner thighs as he pushed on Dean’s lap, rocking, fingers slipping between his parted legs, moaning so deeply it shook in his chest.

“What—” Dean looked down. He saw Castiel had an erection and looked back up, stunned. “What’re you doin’? The hell, dude. You’re touching yourself.”

“Uh?” Castiel looked down. “Oh... I— I don’t know. Feels nice. Oh, don’t stop, don’t _stop_ —” He hugged to Dean with one arm and rubbed his erection on his middle, skin to skin, purring as the pressure sent waves of delight through his body.

“Inner thighs, huh,” Dean said, his breath shaking a little. “You, uh. You like that? Touching yourself there?”

Castiel nodded, rubbing under his thighs, one hand. He moved his hand up, fingertips exploring the shape of his erection. “Am I – aroused?” he asked. “Is that what this is?”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded into the crook of Castiel’s chin. “You’re turned on, Cas. Uh. I think— Maybe this whole time you _were_ askin’ me to touch your erogenous zones.”

“Oh.” Castiel shuddered, shutting his eyes as he gripped his erection in a fist. “I’m sorry.” He tried to push the stiffness down but it just got stiffer.

“You don’t want a bath, do you?” Dean whispered, amused. “You want me to make you feel good. Touch all your zones. Pleasure you.”

“Isn’t that... the same thing...?” Castiel asked. Looking into Dean’s eyes and realising the answer was no, Castiel bowed his head, ashamed.

“Ih— It’s fine,” Dean breathed. “I guess. You wanna feel good, right? Feel better. You... didn’t know what it meant.”

Castiel retreated by an inch, guilty sadness all tight and lonely in his belly. “Does this mean you don’t want to wash me?”

Dean looked down to see Castiel’s erection, lips wet. He began to speak, but he only made a soft, wanton sound. He blushed. “I can maybe wash you. If—” he caught Castiel’s eyes, “if it’s okay by you that I’m kinda finding it _really_ fuckin’ hot that you’re rock-hard on my lap right now.”

Castiel relaxed down Dean’s thighs, relieved to feel Dean’s erection through his boxers. “That’s okay by me,” Castiel said, trying to cover his absolute gratitude with a tone of kindness, as if he was doing Dean a service. “Can I touch you?”

Pink-cheeked, Dean nodded, head of hair tickly under Castiel’s chin, hands reaching around his back to hold him.

Castiel looked down, observing his own hand tight around his cock. His member was fat and hot, and as Castiel’s curiosity overtook he moved... just softly... and touched the wet tip to Dean’s navel. His erection jumped in his hand, throbbing harder. Castiel’s breath fluttered, then gushed out a moment later.

Dean chuckled, biting his lip. “C’mere.” He lifted Castiel’s hand from his erection... and... holding his eyes, placed Cas’ middle fingertip between his plump lips. He sucked, and Castiel’s skin ran with static, rising, electric through his body. Dean sucked softly, wetly, tongue running under the fingertip, making a slick sound. He pulled that finger out, and took another between his lips. His eyes were so dark, intense. He didn’t smile but he looked pleased, somehow.

“Erogenous zone six,” Dean breathed, his voice corrupted. “Hands.” He held that hand and kissed the back of it like people did a century ago. He then turned that hand and kissed Castiel’s palm – Castiel cooed involuntarily, delighted. They shared a grin, Dean easing closer, hands in Castiel’s hair.

“Seriously, c’mere,” he said brightly, placing a kiss on Castiel’s lips.

Castiel’s spine prickled with pleasure. He let Dean kiss him, because it was... oh, it was gorgeous the way he did it. He wasn’t afraid. He was learning, yes, learning the shape of Castiel’s mouth, but he moved with confidence, kissed with hard pushes and wet nips. Then he went slow, breathing deeply, eyelashes on Castiel’s cheek. Kiss, kiss. Thumbs worked the hairs at the back of Castiel’s neck, making him vibrate with what felt like ripples across his skin.

“Seven,” Dean said, kiss, kiss, “Lips.”

He grinned into the kiss, then pulled back, giving a flirty wink. “How’s this?” He tilted Castiel’s head and began to suck his ear.

Castiel melted on his lap. He’d never groaned so deeply. He clung to Dean, feeling safe and comfortably helpless as he experienced arousal and ear kisses at the same time. Dean moved from his ear, to his neck, to his lips, and Castiel rolled in it all – physically rolling – relaxing into each new position Dean eased him towards.

“Eight: ears.” Dean nuzzled, the slickness of his grin cast along the soft lobe of Castiel’s left ear.

Castiel tipped his head back and shuddered, as Dean’s hands had moved to his inner thighs, grasping first, then stroking. “Nine, thighs,” Dean nodded. “You ‘n me aren’t so different, besides the wings, Cas. Betcha you’d like lying back in bed, legs open... me putting kisses all the way up...?” Dean let his breath shiver against Castiel’s ear, searing hot, impossibly intimate. “Lick you. Get you all wet there. Ooh.”

A faint groan escaped Castiel, internally astounded that such a combination of words from Dean’s lips could render _him_ – a creature who was around before language was invented, who watched every possible divergence of the spoken and written word develop – unable to find a single word to describe how pleased he was to hear what Dean said.

Regardless of the pleasure it ignited, Dean’s suggestion sounded strange to Castiel. Castiel didn’t know why he’d want to be wet with saliva when there was a bath and plumbing full of fresh, clean water here. He didn’t know why having his legs apart sounded enjoyable, but supposed it had to do with being vulnerable in Dean’s presence, like a cat showing its belly. Clearly his unconscious had understood the implications before his conscious thoughts could even comprehend the _noise_ that came out of him, but there it was: he wanted what Dean wanted.

“Yes,” Castiel breathed. “Yes, lie me on the bed and lick me. I want that.”

Quietly, he congratulated himself on speaking in words, not tongues.

Dean snickered. “Really?”

Castiel nodded, a desperate little whimper flying from his throat. “Legs open.”

Dean’s eyebrows had risen. “Like... right now?”

“Yes please.”

Dean blinked twice. “Okay?” He hesitated, but slowly offered both hands, assisting Castiel to his feet. Once up, Castiel helped Dean up, and they stood together in the dry tub, nose-to-nose, Dean’s heartbeat visible in his neck, his eyes dark as night, and eager as dawn.

With a flash of a smile exchanged, they clambered from the tub and hurried, finger-locked, towards the bed they’d shared for the last few nights. Castiel turned and walked backwards, holding Dean’s gaze.

Dean followed, exhaling through relaxed lips, looking at Castiel with the kind of intensity only seen when his throat was grasped in someone’s fist, and he begged without a word for them to free him: kill him or release him, it was their choice. Yet he followed Castiel willingly. He stood by the foot of the bed willingly, removed his underwear and exposed his arousal willingly, lifted a knee and crawled over Castiel’s exposed form, no flicker of doubt in any movement he made. Yet that look in his eye only grew darker, utterly at Castiel’s mercy.

Castiel shut his eyes and tipped up his chin, spreading his wings sleekly across the bed, legs apart, hands sliding up to grasp his own neck, own hair, touching as he groaned. He felt _pleasure_ just from being naked and aroused and having Dean so close to him, _observing_ him in this physical state.

Dean bent to kiss him, his body distant at first, but very soon melting into position, purring, holding Castiel’s ribs under hot hands, pressing his cock to Castiel’s upper thigh. Dean made soft, happy noises, and as Castiel peeked through his lashes to see his face, he saw the flush on Dean’s cheeks, the flutter of his eyelashes, the unusual plushness of his lips.

“Mmm... mh,” Dean murmured as he slipped from Castiel’s lips to his neck, anointing the tender skin under his ear with wet, smoochy kisses, tongue-tip and nose-nudges, hot breaths puffed across his throat.

Castiel squirmed, crying out in his dreamy, destitute state of arousal. He didn’t care about dignity or grace any more, he wanted to experience the full-body heat and the pulsing, _urging_ waves of sparks that rolled up his insides after every one of Dean’s movements. He wanted to _feel_ the foreign liquid ooze from the tip of his erection, as it did now, and he panted as he looked down, figuring out what it was, what it meant, why it was milky-white, and where it dribbled, as Dean continued pampering his neck with kisses.

Dean’s body grew searing hot under Castiel’s hands, his cheeks red, lips fat and pouty, eyes dazed and unfocused even when he and Castiel shared a _you okay?_ glance. Dean breathed deeply, little sounds of pleasure rumbling from inside him as he kissed down, down, across Castiel’s shoulder and onto his beating, beating, beating heart.

Castiel nodded, almost to himself, huffing and shivering. He was weak and he liked it, somehow. Dean was the only one here to witness him having this experience, and that was perfect.

Castiel felt Dean’s wet mouth touch to his left nipple and he _yelped_ , legs spasming, fingers scratching Dean’s back by accident. Castiel whined, spine arching away from the bed, feeling hot fluid spurt from him, cock throbbing hard. All this? All this from a little warm, wet kiss on his nipple?

Dean started to grin, which made it hard to suckle. But he swirled fingertips around the wet place, finger over the point, electrifying Castiel’s entire body. By now Castiel was gasping in shivers, shaking, slippery in odd places and prickly in others.

Dean went back to suckling, nose tip rubbing above Castiel’s nipple, moving Castiel’s skin where it stuck. Dean’s eyes were closed, a complex expression on his face. Castiel only snatched a look, as he was too busy tipping his head into the sheets and fighting for air, but he’d seen Dean’s relaxed smirk paired with desperate tension as he tried not to grin, and something else... something like... a frown, but not upset, or angry, just... in want. In want of a hundred things.

“Auh,” Dean started, losing himself in kisses for a moment, before breathing again, “Erogenous... zone. Whatever number. I can’t r’member.”

“Eight,” Castiel said. “No, wait— Ten. It’s ten.”

“Ten,” Dean agreed. “Nipples.” He ran the point of his nose over the wet nub, before he blew a breath across it, stinging Castiel so wonderfully that he sobbed. Writhing, _writhing_ , he hooked a knee over Dean’s lower back, humping nothing, erection bobbing with the movements.

“Y-You want,” Castiel rasped, smacking his tongue to his palate, swallowing hard to fix his voice, only for it to come out even deeper: “You wanted to lick me?”

Dean sucked his lower lip dry as he lifted up, catching Castiel’s gaze. He nodded, tongue tip pastel-pink between magenta lips. “Yeah. Can I?”

“Yes,” Castiel smiled. “Yes, Dean.”

Dean exhaled a smile. His eyes shut as he descended, and hot breath cast a spell and carved a misty, humid path to Castiel’s parted legs. Castiel squealed and grasped Dean’s hair, scrunching, hips surging to meet Dean’s mouth. Dean went where he was guided, and although he’d gone down there to lick, he angled his head and opened his mouth so Castiel’s untamed guidances led him to seal his mouth around Castiel’s erection, and before Castiel knew it, Dean’s mouth was full of his cock, his head bobbing, his tongue slick and _hot_ on the underside of Castiel’s penis.

“Ah?” Castiel took a moment to understand what was happening, looking down, confused. Where was such a big thing disappearing to? Dean seemed to sink down and lift up without effort, gulping, moaning – oh, _moaning_ – hands slipping to hold Castiel’s hips down so he didn’t buck the way he kept trying to.

“Oh... Dean...” Castiel shivered, some desperation breaking into his voice, no doubt shattering his expression too. “Oh my G... Dean... Ouah...”

Dean sucked hard, breathing with force through his nose. There was something obscene about the way his mouth was full, completely full, thick to the back of his throat. He stretched up his arms without looking, palms across the sheets... Castiel thought he was looking for a hand to hold, so reached back, but only touched Dean’s forearms, as Dean had taken hold of Castiel’s wings.

He _pulled_ , bringing Castiel’s wings down in the bed, closer, so Dean could dig his hands deeply into Castiel’s tender axillaries. Castiel sobbed aloud, on the edge of tears from how inexpressibly good it felt. He began whispering human cusses, words he knew were bad to say but felt perfect in that moment. “Dean... Oh, please... Please, yes... Oh, fuck,” he uttered, eyes shut, touching his own nipples, swirling fingers across their points. “Fuck, fuck, ffffDeeeeeeean...”

Dean hummed amusement, wet squelches coming from that dirty little place between Castiel’s open legs. Something hot and wet was travelling past his scrotum now, and Dean’s left hand fled Castiel’s right wing to instead explore the intimate underside of Castiel’s body. Fingers – confident, knowledgeable fingers – slicked their way under his scrotum and began stroking a dark, sensitive place that Castiel hadn’t known could be reached, let alone be touched, let alone _pleasured_ with nothing but spittle and a thumb. Castiel held Dean’s hair and wept out diminutive sounds, dizzy and breathless and on the verge of something – something dirty noisy loud and wet, he knew it, he knew it, it was coming, he shivered and trembled and said Dean’s name letter by letter, every syllable the size of a universe in his heart, condensed just from the _pressure_ in his body.

Dean sensed Castiel’s change in composure and responded by changing his own; he let Castiel’s cock flop from his mouth with a spit-slick sound, and he took his next breaths against Castiel’s inner thigh, mewling as he recovered.

Castiel had gone back to shuddering, upset that the big exciting feeling was drifting away. He wanted it back, and wriggled in Dean’s space to urge him to help, knowing he had the power to get it back.

Dean laughed at Castiel’s wordless demands, twinkly green eyes peering up at Castiel from past his leaning erection. Slowly Dean closed his mouth against Castiel’s hipbone, and a sparkly little whisper crawled up to him: “What do you want?”

“WWh,” Castiel managed, before collapsing, having too many needs to express anything. “Everywhere. Everything. Please.”

Dean lay a kiss on Castiel’s thigh, and a kiss became a lick. Castiel spasmed, swearing in a huff, then found himself giggling, face tense, fists in the sheets as Dean’s tongue only tickled him. “Yee-k-! Eehehe! Keehhheh,” Castiel laughed, rolling away onto his hands and knees. A huge _floomff_ of his wings whisked past his back as they spread out, hovering over the bed.

“Tickly,” Dean grinned against Castiel’s buttocks. He smacked a kiss there, off to the side. His outspread palm and fingers snuck between Castiel’s legs and cupped his genitals from below, squeezing – then he started to shake them. “How’s that?”

Castiel bowed his torso to the bed, moaning. Arms out, fingers in the sheets. “Deeeean...”

“Oh, yeah.” Dean snickered. A whisper to Castiel’s lower back, felt more than whispered, “Erogenous zone eleven. Junk. No surprises there.”

He moved his hand swiftly over Castiel’s cockhead, which Castiel found especially pleasurable, in an alarmed, desperate, flushed-hot sort of way. He fucked into Dean’s hand and then thrust away from him, wanting more and less at once. He put his thighs together around Dean’s wrist and trapped him there, moaning, “AAauhhheeee...” and kept squirming around Dean’s hand even though it no longer moved.

Dean was laughing, almost guffawing at this, his other hand pushing Castiel’s ass to make him let go. “C’mon, man,” he complained, chuckling still. “If you want your thighs together we can make that work.”

“Yeah?”

Dean breathed out and kissed Castiel’s spine. “Yeah.”

Tentatively, Castiel released his thighs. As soon as Dean was free, Castiel re-entwined his legs, loving the pressure it gave as he squeezed. He found himself shoved down to the bed, face in the sheets, and Dean’s body put pressure on him...

“Aah’oh...” Castiel said, voice broken. Dean’s cock slipped between the tight lock of Castiel’s thighs, finding a burrow there in the slick place, in the warm place. Castiel relaxed as Dean’s weight pushed him down, his cock filling up what felt like all of him, but it was just hard between soft, hot between warm. Castiel’s own erection was pushed into the bed, moved slightly as Dean began to rock.

“Oh, God, yeah,” Dean whispered, kissing between Castiel’s wings. “Yeah, Cas. You like that?”

Castiel nodded, cheek burning on the cool bedsheet as he tried to look back to see Dean.

Dean gave him a kiss on his exposed cheek. “Got you to calm down, anyway.”

“Calm down?” Castiel smiled.

“You’re, uh... kind of wild,” Dean said, some kind of pride in his voice. He gave Castiel’s neck more of those beautiful kisses, sweet and slick with wetness. “Winged beastie. Mmmm.” He turned to Castiel’s ear, and gave it just as much attention.

All the while, his body shifted, pushing between Castiel’s thighs. Fucking him. Bodies stacked like they were made to lock together that way, Castiel’s buttocks padding Dean’s hips, feet interlocked.

“What’s it like to climax?” Castiel asked, as Dean’s hand slid to hold his own, thumb stroking the soft side. “Is it anything like flying?”

Dean grinned. Oh, he was so warm, so heavy. He nodded, nuzzling Castiel’s wings. “Just like flying.”

“Show me.”

Dean nodded again. “Okay. Okay.” He breathed over Castiel’s neck one last time, and with one hand in Castiel’s, and the other sinking ever-deeper into his wing, his pressure went from gentle – _oh!_ – to feral, to _ravenous_ , speeding and speeding and grasping that wing harder, pushed deep to the muscle to make sure Castiel _felt_ him – then he let go of his hand, wrenched back and _flipped_ Castiel over.

Castiel went where he was pushed, meeting Dean’s eyes and seeing determination there. Fire. Dean sank down and kissed with some kind of fury, growling, with pulsating passion but, truly, no less tenderness than before. He was riled up and that energy was catching; Castiel returned to gasping, pumping his hips in the bed so he got some friction against Dean’s cock.

There they were, two together, pushing, pushing, slicked by saliva and the emissions of their arousal. Dean took Castiel’s hands and slammed them down to the mattress, fingers parted together, palms making vacuums with their sweat and pressure.

They moaned together, some beastly growl overtaking their motel room and turning a nice afternoon into a thunderstorm, howling, Castiel with his head back, wings booming as he let them flap however they liked, hitting the walls, smashing the lampshade from its perch. The bed began to thump, mattress shifting in place; Castiel roared in pleasure, smiling, body vibrating fiercely.

“Dean— Dean—” Castiel set his blurry gaze on his lover above him, the sex-flushed image of Dean shaken as they moved. Dean’s hair stuck to his forehead, his breaths came out loud, his chest was flushed, the wrinkle between his brows was deeper than before, but he’d never looked happier. He shut his eyes in absolute ecstasy, and Castiel watched him for a while, loving the sight, before the overwhelm took over, and he squirmed back, yelling, pushing his heels through the sheets and off the bed.

“Cas— AuHh, CasCasCas—” Dean cried out, mouth wide, looking as though his was in pain, but he sobbed like he was happy, and folded forward to smother Castiel’s cheek in kisses – loud, soft, sweet kisses. He whimpered against Castiel’s neck, and his hands grabbed Castiel’s wings, perhaps with the intention of stilling them – but they were too strong for him, and he was ripped away from stability, slammed down chest-to-chest with Castiel. With a gasp, Dean seized up.

Castiel grabbed his hips, thinking he was hurt – but then he felt a squirt of heat between their bellies. A lopsided grin burst across Castiel’s face and brightened inside his chest: he’d felt Dean orgasm, right on top of him, feeling pleasure because he’d touched Castiel enough to be satisfied.

Dean moaned like a hurt animal as he finished coming, still rocking against Castiel’s cock, eyes closed. He went limp, head lolling over Castiel’s chest, forehead soon touching down. Dean breathed raggedly, physically trembling, even when he went still. Castiel could feel his weakness, now. He was exhausted.

So Castiel rolled him over, and Dean flopped that way, smiling a lazy smile as Castiel climbed on top of him, sitting on his softening cock. Castiel moaned to himself, bending to take the kisses he was still owed, smooching Dean’s slow-responding lips, gripping his bristly jaw, which was now clammy with sweat. “Hmm, Dean.” Castiel sucked Dean’s neck the way Dean had sucked his, and Dean shivered with delight, lifting his chin so Castiel could have more of him.

Settled comfortably on Dean’s waist, Castiel began to rock, then hump, enjoying the smoothness of Dean’s belly. His cock moved easily there, and as he looked down he saw he was being helped along by Dean’s own ejaculate, which was shiny and smeared out of formation. Humming a happy note, Castiel carried on, biting his lip, enjoying that he was all dirty now, and he was getting Dean’s mess on him. Maybe if he got dirty, Dean would wash him, and they could do this all over again.

Castiel flapped his wings a few times, arranging them as comfortably as he could at his back. But they didn’t want to be still— They flared out, balancing him and unbalancing him, unwilling to obey him. He soon let them do as they liked, and they set up a rhythm. Flap, flap, flap; he shifted on Dean’s belly, cock pushed back and forth by the force of the wingbeats. Castiel let his breath go, and let any last inhibitions go; he let his wings dictate his pleasures.

“Oh my God,” Dean breathed, looking at Cas in awe, reaching to hold his waist. “Oh, mmm...”

Castiel grinned, head down, hands out, grasping Dean’s sweat-thickened hair, holding his gaze. Wingbeat, push, wingbeat, push. He let his cockhead drag all the way to Dean’s chest, leaving a single wet stripe, which it followed over and over as his wings pushed him there.

Dean looked at Castiel with new reverence, eyes darting to the wings, the glossy blue-black tips of them to the tufted tops, to the flaring, air-whistling primary feathers, sweeping the bed and bending, going as far as Dean’s bare thighs, making him twitch as often as Castiel’s wings beat. Shaking his head in awe, Dean returned his attention to Castiel’s eyes, holding his waist even tighter. He couldn’t believe Castiel was here with him, in this physical state – desperate and gasping and sweaty, moments from coming. He couldn’t believe it.

In the last, heaving beats as some cosmic sensation rose, rose up, consuming, Castiel craned down and took Dean’s cheek in his hand, pressed a kiss to the other cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered to him, voice weighted with gratitude. He followed his whisper with a deep, pleasured cry that boomed in his gut and curled his hair, as he threw back his head and surged with his thumping wings, as they gave one last _WHOOSH_ and sent him keeling over backwards, Dean following him instinctively.

Castiel climaxed as he fell to his back, halfway off the bed; he moaned, feeling static run through his nerves and burst like a blunt firework on a rainy night. One wing flared long across the carpet, the other was grasped by Dean as he kept him from toppling from the bed entirely. Orgasm spilled and slid warm across his belly, straight away sliding up to his ribs.

After a few recovery breaths, Dean heaved Castiel, grinning, back up to the bed. He took him in his arms, holding him as he collapsed, flopping onto Dean’s shoulder.

“There we go,” Dean soothed, stroking the back of Castiel’s neck, fingers curling into his hair. “That was friggin’ gorgeous, Cas. You feel good?”

Castiel nodded vigorously, still scraping for air. He pushed sloppy, appreciative kisses to Dean’s shoulder, breathing in his pretty smell, shaking hands taking and keeping his shoulders for stability.

“I love you,” Castiel said wetly, between gasps. “I love you I love you I love you.”

Dean grinned and nodded. “Love you too, buddy.” He bit his lip, leaning back so they could look each other in the eye. Dean winked. “Don’t make me say it again.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, chuckling as he accepted Dean’s big, squishy hug. They laughed, toppling onto the middle of the bed, legs entangled.

They wrestled with each other, pushing and shoving and kissing open-mouthed, until eventually Dean gave in, groaning in exhaustion, eyes shut, body too lethargic to even bat at Castiel as he tickled his tummy. Dean just grinned, slowly biting his lip.

Castiel decided to snuggle with him, so arranged himself at Dean’s side, belly to Dean’s hip, arms around his middle. Dean stretched an arm around Castiel and tugged him closer, rolling just enough to smack a kiss to his forehead.

“Eleven erogenous zones,” Castiel said calmly, but found his voice was too worn out be anything more than a guttural mutter. He swept his right wing up, as the left was trapped by Dean’s weight, and he used it as a blanket over his and Dean’s naked bodies. Now Dean was wrapped up in his wings, entirely. Castiel gazed at Dean with love, some kind of warmth growing in his chest as Dean peeked back, smiling. “Twelve erogenous zones,” Castiel added, “if you count my mind. Some of the things you’ve said to me today felt very... arousing, I suppose.”

Dean smiled even more, eyes crinkling at the sides.

“Do you have that many erogenous zones too, Dean?” Castiel asked. “Even without wings.”

“More than that,” Dean promised. “You have more too.”

“I do?!”

“Oh, yeah.” Dean rolled even closer, putting a fingertip teasingly on Castiel’s eyelashes, dragging across and making them tingle. “You would not believe,” he said, kissing Castiel’s eyelid, then dipping down to bite his neck, “how many places on the human body can be made erogenous.” He popped back up and smirked at Castiel. “At least, by the right person, when you’re in the right mood.”

“That sounds promising,” Castiel smiled, feeling his hand taken, fingers parted by Dean’s. Castiel didn’t look, but appreciated the tenderness of Dean’s handholding. “Especially since you are the right person, and lately I’ve found myself being in the right mood more often than not.”

Dean scoffed. “I still can’t believe... Heh! You wanted to be touched, so you thought you needed a _bath_.”

“I... It...?” Castiel ruffled. “I found it physically satisfying when you bathed me. So it seemed _logical_ that the next time I had an urge to touch myself, it meant I needed a bath. Don’t tease me for that.”

“Hm... As far as pretences go, wasn’t a bad one,” Dean admitted, bright-eyed as he lay back on the bed, still playing with Castiel hand. “Maybe Sam won’t suspect you were horny.”

“I’m sorry to inform you of this, but I think Sam may already suspect.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah.” He glanced at Castiel and shrugged. “He’s a good brother.”

Castiel smiled.

They went quiet for a while, relaxing, resting. Fingers intertwined.

Then Dean asked, “Are your wings still itchy?”

Castiel glanced at him quickly. He shook his head.

“Oh. How come?”

Castiel shrugged. “I must’ve been over-sensitive before. After my first bath it all felt much better.”

Dean looked at him carefully, then asked, with some hesitation, “So you don’t need any more baths?”

Castiel rolled a shoulder. “Why? Do you _want_ to give me another bath?”

Dean rolled a shoulder too. “D’ya think... maybe... sometimes, you could ask for one? And I can...” he reached to sink his fingers into that plush, avian darkness, “I can make you feel good.”

Castiel blinked a few times, eyes dipping to Dean’s lips. “You mean sex.”

“I mean whatever you need,” Dean promised. “Kisses. Cuddles, whatever. A long talk. An actual bath. Or, yeah.” He kissed him, breathing out. Whispering against his lips, he nodded, “Or sex.”

Castiel smiled. “Can you give me a bath, _now_?”

Dean’s eyebrows rose. “Right now? Not for nothin’, Cas, but haven’t you ever heard of a refractory period?”

Castiel chuckled, headbutting Dean gently, then rolling over him, breathing into his mouth as he clarified, between kisses, “Maybe a – a real – actual – bath. With water. And you naked and blushing and soapy. I need all this semen washed off. But then I’ll wash _you_ , and I’ll find all _your_ special places, I think.” He winked at Dean. “I bet you I’ll find twelve.”

“If you know where to put the soap, bet you you’ll find fifteen,” Dean said breathlessly, vitality blooming in his eyes. “But if you wash my hair, Cas, you’re using conditioner.” He reached to stroke his fingers through Castiel’s messy hair, combing a few times. “Knew I forgot somethin’ when I washed you. Wings were kind of a distraction.”

Castiel smirked, shutting his eyes as Dean ran his hands up and down his back, drawing in a deep breath.

“Now?” Castiel asked. “Now-now.”

Dean chuckled, cuddling Cas a little, then letting go. “‘Kay.”

With tired and achey limbs, they sank off the bed and helped each other up, Dean creaky and complaining, Castiel adoring and full of kisses that knew exactly where they needed to go.

They ambled hand-in-hand to the bathroom, wings trailing. One wing ceased trailing for a moment, jumping to spank Dean’s ass, making him yelp – then he laughed, and giggled... and then he grasped for Castiel, brought him close, and made out with him against the wall.

Castiel kissed Dean with more tenderness than he’d ever expressed at any point in his entire existence, and he felt Dean deserved all of it. From the way Dean looked back, Castiel was right.

They entered the bathroom in single file, Dean walking backwards, Castiel turning sideways to get his wings in behind him. Without breaking eye contact, Castiel pushed the door closed with a useful, beautiful wing.

In that narrowing gap between the door and its frame, Castiel’s lips met Dean’s, and they were both smiling.  
  


**{ the end }**

**Author's Note:**

>  **☞** [Fic reblog (opening lines)](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/185944382320/eleven-erogenous-zones-of-a-fallen-angel)  
>  **☞** [Fic reblog (in all caps because of reasons)](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/185945133100/hey-do-you-want-a-wingkink-destiel-fic-where-cas)  
>  **☞** [Art reblog (& link to art process gif)](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/185944972700/nothing-i-make-looks-right-until-i-add-rainbows)
> 
> Let me know what you thought of this!! I'm definitely open to writing more wing fics, smutty or not... but be warned, it may take another year. However!!! There's still a five-month backlog of fics I'm waiting to post when I'm up to it, so there's gonna be new things to enjoy soon~ Thank you for being so patient with me. Hopefully it's worth the wait.
> 
> Other fics most similar to this:  
> ♥ [Understanding Your Body in Ten Easy Steps](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1262023) (12.5k / Dean teaches Cas what to do with his boner, no homo)  
> ♥ [Sam Accidentally Sees the Whole Picture](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1310779) (10.4k / Dean and Cas quietly have their first time while Sam's in the next bed)  
> ♥ [Bad Things With You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/843761) (31k / Hunter catboy AU, Cas requests "playtime" when he wants to be touched)  
> ♥ [Minty Fresh Kisses](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1548881) (7.9k / Dean teaches Cas to brush his teeth, motel room snuggles)  
> ♥ [The Wireless](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12329541) (58.5k / Solarpunk AU, Cas is a closeted angel, tent sex with wings)  
> ♥ [All my other fics!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/works)
> 
> *flaps wings and whooshes away*
> 
> Elmie x


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